Control
by Luna the Unicorn
Summary: Sherlock experiments with drugs and things get a little out of control..


John sat typing up a new blog post on his laptop and sipping a hot cup of tea. From the next room he could hear the murmur of the television that Sherlock had left on. He knew Sherlock hated everything on television, but that was precisely why he watched it; he liked to hate things, to pick things apart with insults and marvel at the stupidity of society.

He heard Sherlock shout at someone on the television for being an "insufferable moron" and sighed. If there was anything Sherlock liked more than raving about the stupidity of the human race, it was having an audience. He thought he had better go into the next room to humor him, rather than have him keep shouting at the top of his lungs.

He closed his laptop with a snap and carried it into the next room.

As soon as he rounded the corner he could sense that something was off. He glanced at Sherlock sitting in his chair as he sat down on the couch.

"Any tips of a new crime?"

Sherlock's head snapped up from where he was staring blankly at the wall. "What?" he said sharply.

John could tell that he was in one of his moods and wondered whether he just shouldn't bother him. He made to get up and walk out, but something stopped him.

"Sherlock. Are you ok?" John had noticed that his breathing was rather rapid and shallow.

"Experiment," Sherlock said matter-of-factly without looking up.

"What do you mean exp-" John trailed off as he noticed the needles strewn all over the table.

"Christ, Sherlock," he exhaled exasperatedly. "You know that stuff is _dangerous_. Especially if you don't know what you're doing. I'm a doctor, remember? Contrary to what you may think, I do know what I'm taking about sometimes."

Sherlock merely shrugged. "I was bored."

John walked over to where he was sitting in his chair and leaned over him, trying to get an idea of just how high Sherlock was and whether or not he needed medical attention.

"Your pupils are extremely dilated," he mumbled looking into his glazed eyes. He also noted how beads of sweat were making his forehead shine as his heartbeat raced with the effects of the drugs.

"I'm perfectly fine, John. I have everything under control," Sherlock said batting John's hands away as he felt his pulse.

"No you're not, and you don't," he said stubbornly, "your pulse is beating way too fast to be considered safe. I don't know why you insist on conducting these so called 'experiments' on yourself when clearly-"

With one swift movement Sherlock was suddenly standing over John. He had taken three long strides across the room as John stumbled clumsily, finding himself backed against the wall.

Sherlock fixed his piercing eyes on Johns as an unsettling silence fell across the room. The look in his eyes was intense enough to unnerve John. Only the sound of Sherlock's unsteady breathing broke the silence.

"I. Said. I'm. Fine. John." Sherlock articulated every syllable quietly, his words charged with power.

John had never really noticed exactly how tall Sherlock was. He had to tilt his head back to look up at him. He made to move sideways, but Sherlock pinned him with one hand.

"Don't move."

"Sherlock, I really don't think you're in-" John stuttered as he made to slip out from under his arm.

With one arm Sherlock grabbed him and slammed him hard against the wall, knocking the breath of out him. "I said. Don't. Fucking. Move," he almost whispered as John gasped to regain his breath.

John's head was spinning. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he felt a twinge in his pants. He had never seen Sherlock lose composure enough to swear. He was intense enough sober, and seeing him like this was exhilarating and dangerous. He had no idea how Sherlock was going to behave or react under the influence of the drugs he had taken.

John suddenly felt a pressure on his thigh, noticing that Sherlock had an erection and was standing just close enough for it to be pressing into him.

Sherlock held John's gaze intently, clearly in a dangerous and unpredictable mood.

Without thinking and disregarding all sense of propriety, John pressed himself up against Sherlock and started kissing his neck. Though he tried to suppress his feelings for his flatmate before, he wasn't strong enough to walk away from this now. He knew that he just crossed a line from which there was no going back, and he would have to deal with that later, but at the moment his head was swimming and he didn't give a damn.

Sherlock responded immediately to John's touch as he grimaced with pleasure.

His hips were thrusting against John, begging for more contact, the friction driving him insane.

John felt Sherlock's hardness pressing into him. He kissed his neck and Sherlock buried his head into John's shoulder, pinning him against the wall with his entire body.

Sherlock's neck flexed as John dug his teeth in, growing more aggressive.

John's hand reached down and ran his fingers teasingly against the zipper of Sherlock's pants, making him growl with lust as he swore.

Sherlock grabbed John's wrist roughly and dragged him across the flat into his bedroom, which was strewn with stacks of papers and books. He shoved a pile of books off the mattress and they fell to the floor as Sherlock pushed John forcefully onto the bed, eyes fixed on him like a predator.

He was soon on top of John, kissing and biting his neck and the curve of his collarbone as his chest rose and fell rapidly. Their hips were grinding together, struggling to find a rhythm, but both so consumed in their own lust that it was impossible to control their bodies.

Sherlock started to pull off his purple shirt, but John grabbed his hand.

"Leave it on," he growled.

The number of times John had fantasized about how Sherlock looked in that shirt he couldn't remember. The way it just lightly hugged his thin frame, the way the deep color brought out the fire in his eyes, the way it felt whenever John "accidentally" brushed against him. Now his hands groped and twisted the fabric, turning him on even more as a moan of pleasure escaped his lips.

"God, Sherlock. That fucking shirt," he breathed as his own jumper was pulled off.

Sherlock's hands fumbled with John's belt, but his hands were shaking from lust and he swore with impatience.

"I fucking need you," he snarled with an animalistic need, his voice shaking and his breath hot against John's ear.

John's hips jerked sharply against Sherlock. Hearing him talk with such rawness was driving him crazy. He couldn't think straight. All he knew was that if he didn't get his pants off soon, then Sherlock's swearing and frustration was going to send him over the edge before anything even happened.

His hands slipped beneath Sherlock's sweaty ones and undid his belt, pulling his pants off as Sherlock did the same.

John's hand stroked Sherlock's hard cock and slowly smeared his pre-cum over the tip with his thumb.

Sherlock's body shuddered at his touch and he thrust hard into John's hand. Unable to control himself enough to even formulate words, he groaned loudly into John's neck. On his left arm a pinprick of blood appeared from where he had injected himself with the drugs; his blood pressure was so elevated that it was causing the small wound to bleed.

John's tongue found the spot on Sherlock's arm and slowly licked the blood.

The feeling of John's wet tongue on his arm drove him mad. He grabbed a fistful of John's hair in his hand and shoved him onto the floor.

On his knees, John's tongue flicked out and started teasing the flushed red tip of Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock's hand was still entangled in John's hair as he guided him down onto him, the sensation drawing a deep moan from his lips.

John started to jerk himself off as he felt Sherlock's warm cock sliding in and out of his mouth, on his tongue, and against the inside of his cheek.

Suddenly Sherlock lifted John's head up and looked darkly into his eyes.

"Gag yourself."

"Wha-"

"You heard me."

A split moment's hesitation was replaced with the thought of how arousing it was having Sherlock Holmes order him around. Sherlock never articulated exactly what he wanted or what he was thinking, leaving you guessing most of the time. But he knew he wanted this now and it turned John on more than ever.

He lowered his mouth onto Sherlock as his hard cock hit the back of his throat, instinctively gagging a little. He grimaced as he struggled to suppress his gag reflex. Grabbing Sherlock's hips, he forced his cock down his throat, choking around it and gagged loudly, but still forcing it down further.

Sherlock was groaning with pleasure, both at the feeling of the vibration of John gagging around his cock and at the sensation of power of demanding him to do so.

John's fingernails dug deeply into Sherlock's hips, piercing the skin. He was dripping with saliva from gagging so hard and tears were spilling from him eyes, but he had never been so turned on in his life.

"Get up."

John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stoop up, saliva still covering his neck and chest from where it had dripped down.

Sherlock locked eyes with John, burning with fire.

"Do you want me to fuck you John?"

"Yes."

"I would have anyways even if you had said no."

John felt his knees go weak with desire. Sherlock wasn't in control anymore, and it was like playing Russian roulette; it was dangerous. And John always had a thing for flirting with danger.

Sherlock pulled John to him and started kissing him roughly, working his way down his neck, licking the saliva on it.

"I want you to struggle, John."

Every order Sherlock gave pushed John closer to orgasm as he made a futile effort to focus on controlling himself.

Sherlock pinned John down on the bed as he struggled beneath the pressure of his arms, through which the drugs were still coursing. His cock still dripping with John's saliva, he slowly guided himself into John.

John's moans were muffled underneath Sherlock's hand pressing against his mouth. The feeling of Sherlock's cock in him, his sweaty body moving on top of him, and the way it shuddered with pleasure was making John lose all sense of sanity. He bit down on Sherlock's hand in pleasure.

Sherlock removed his hand from John's mouth and reached down for John's cock, starting to jerk him off.

John moaned uncontrollably, trying hard not to cum. But his sense of control was slipping.

Sherlock's steady rhythm was interrupted as he started fucking him faster, approaching climax. He grunted as he thrust into John and swore perversely, his words slurring and becoming moans.

A glass of water trembled and shattered to the floor from the nightstand that was against the bed.

Sherlock's body shuddered with spasms against John's as he lost control and came hard into him, groaning loudly.

Sherlock's face was a beautiful combination of blissful agony and painful pleasure as the orgasm swept through his entire body.

The image of pure emotion, of the raw sensual pleasure, of the complete loss of control on Sherlock's face sent John over the edge as he came into Sherlock's hand and on his shirt drenched with sweat. Lights danced behind his eyes as he let the sensation that was so intense it was almost painful wash over him.

Sherlock collapsed onto John, still shivering from the powerful orgasm.

Both of them were completely exhausted, unable to move. Sherlock rolled off of John, his stomach covered in John's semen. They lay there for a few moments in silence, trying to breathe normally.

"Fuck," breathed John.

"Indeed," replied Sherlock.


End file.
